


Chaos and Demise

by smts0529



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, The Vampire Diaries & Related Fandoms, The Vampire Diaries (TV), The Vampire Diaries - L. J. Smith
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, BAMF Sebastian Moran, Blood, Blood Drinking, Drugs, F/M, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Sebastian Moran, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Torture, Vampires, mormor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 11:59:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10019849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smts0529/pseuds/smts0529
Summary: About 2 weeks later, I finally accepted the job.I was going to assassinate James Moriarty.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Please bare with me as I worked really hard on this. I promise it will get better as I write more! Any and allc omments are truly appreciated.

_ “Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.” _

 

Ever since I was old enough to read, Shakespeare's tragedies always had my interest. There was something about the overwhelming sadness that was some relatable and..calming. That's besides the point, though. I'm not a softie.

 

The time that is considered childhood was not perfect for me. I grew up around violence, and guns were in in my blood. Quite literally. I wouldn’t be surprised if doctors found traces of gunpowder within me. Or stray bullets. My mother had anger issues early on. That is why when I was 7 years old, she left my father and I to live alone and fend for ourselves. I won't go into detail about all that shit, but she was better off gone. Cocaine and crystal methamphetamines weren't really my forte at that age. The bitch cared more about drugs than her one family, and that woman could go to hell for all I cared.Around the time that my mother left us, dad gave me my first gun. It was a rifle, and it was the cheapest and most basic brand you could get. Regardless, I loved that damn thing.

 

Little did I know that being gifted the rifle would be the start to a lifestyle and line of work I would never leave. If you weren’t aware, the Moran family comes from a long line of assassins and hitmen, and we didn’t try to hide it. At least..not at home. I shit you not, dad had a preserved eyeball in a jar by the refrigerator. There were targets everywhere the eye could see. In the backyard there were bales of hay with mannequins on top, with the occasional paper target tapes or stapled to a tree.

 

I practiced for years before shit got real. My f irst 'job' was assassinating my dad's former employer, at the ripe age of 21. My father forbid me to do anything before turning 21 as he wanted me to get experience because _ 'Sebastian, you need to shoot those bastards right in the skull. Don’t let them get away or else the next bullet will be through your chest.' _

 

Said practice was tedious, but it all paid off eventually. Hitting the target was fairly simple. Not that it matters at this point, but if I remember correctly, the guy’s name was Robert.

 

Get up on the rooftop across from his building. Deep breath, count to three. Look through the scope, center the target, and pull the trigger. For poor ol’ Robert, I did just that. I will never forget seeing all the blood drain from his lifeless body, nor the way it spasmed when the brain caught up with the body and made the realization that  _ Oh fuck, I’ve been shot _ . 

 

My father paid me well for that hit. A couple thousand. The man was proud of me. I used that money to go and buy myself a new gun- a fancy, shiny, brand new sniper rifle. She's still with me to this day. And let me tell you..it’s a beautiful gun.

 

Fast forward to a few years after that first real hit, and I was enlisted as a Colonel in the military. Of course, I was sniping. It was clearly obvious that it was what I was born to do, meant to do. I was actually recruited by the British army to serve and that's just what I did. My military past was a blur. I won't go into detail about that either, but let's just say I had more confirmed kills than could be remembered, and there’s also the fact that I was dishonourably discharged a few years later.

 

After my brief military stint, I did independent work. Dark web type things. Clients didn’t want to know me, nor did I want to know them. Bitcoins. That type of thing.

 

I'm 31 currently, and I still have my rifle by my side, the same one from 10 years ago. She’s irreplaceable. There's nothing quite like the way her trigger feels in between my fingers, aching to be pulled. The way the cold metal and smooth wood of her body feels nestled in the crook of my arm. The way my heart races when I see the target I've been waiting hours for. 

 

A few days after what I believed to be my birthday, an anonymous client using the throwaway name Richard Brooks came to me, saying that he would pay well if I could assassinate none other than James Moriarty, the most dangerous man in all of London. I thought long and hard about this particular job. Moriarty was nearly impossible to get but this person thought I had the skills and capabilities to kill him. I was flattered, but refused at first. It seemed too sketchy. Things didn't add up.

 

About 2 weeks later, I finally accepted the job.

I was going to assassinate James Moriarty.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading & don't forget to leave kudos!


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